Why Privacy Breaching Is Not Fine
by Erehmi
Summary: "Are you saying that you were in my room without my permission again?"/"I would not do it if you tell me yourself!"/"That's why people hide things, Sherlock. Because they don't want to tell what they hide to other people."


**Why Privacy Breaching Is Not Fine**

Sherlock Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; BBC—Mark Gatiss Steven Moffat

No material profit taken from this.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

It's another closed case by 221B's duo. After harassing Lestrade and at least ten other Mets, but praise them of their response time in catching up when the chasing happened, they left, giggling like two teenage boys who did not care for the world. Or cold night.

"But, still, you shouldn't say that to them," John said with his grin plastered on.

"Oh, they need their daily dose of scolding. Hope it can make them warm tonight."

"Yes, their ears."

"Better than nothing."

John scoffed.

They did not say anything else and keep walking with comfortable silence. It was quite far from Baker Street, and they would take a cab eventualy, for sure, but for now, they prefer this. And John thought he knew the reason had something to do with the way Sherlock stole glances at him since they were out of Baker Street.

Not that John would prying. He believed Sherlock would tell him when the time comes. He didn't have to wait for long, though because Sherlock called him out of his musing.

He stopped and turned to his friend. "Yes?" He was taken a back. He didn't expect to see such ... anguish on his friend's face. "Sherlock, mate, everything's alright?"

Sherlock shook his head a little. "No, it's not--John, I," he took a deep breath, "You are a good man. You tought me things and makes me a better man than my old self ever imagine. I find your companion and loyalty are never to be taken for granted. I am so very sorry for what I've done to you in Barts one year ago. No matter how many thanks I say could ever express how grateful I am nor can show my gratitude for your precense in my life."

Shock didn't even describe what John felt right now. Sure, he was touched. Of course he was, but his hammering heart didn't just let out that one emotion alone. "What is this?" he said tightly.

Sherlock refused to meet his gaze. "I just want to tell you that. I do not want you to not know that."

John's fists clenched tightly in his sides. "Are you dying, Sherlock?"

Now, Sherlock locked his sharp eyes at John's with those searching and intense focus. "Are you?"

John's eyebrow rose. "Excuse me--sorry--I don't understand." He shifted his foot. "Me?"

Sherlock snorted. "John, stop this. I found it painful enough that you choose not to tell me something this important and I respect your decision by not digging it out of you. But acting foolish like--"

"Wait, wait, wait. Stop right there! I honestly, swear to God, don't understand what you are saying."

John didn't know what Sherlock found on his face, but he thought it was enough to make Sherlock believed he was not lying.

Sherlock averted his gaze and staring at his shoes, instead. "The abdomen CT-scan inside your drawer."

"Are you saying that you were in my room without my permission again?"

"I would not do it if you tell me yourself!"

"That's why people hide things, Sherlock. Because they don't want to tell what they hide to other people. Do you thing a kid who just break his mother's plate will say: 'Mummy, I broke your favorite plate and I hide it in backyard so you won't find it, please forgive me?'"

"It's not the point."

"No, it's not. Sorry. It just feels great to correct you sometimes. Anyway." John huffed out a breath. Sherlock rose his head and surprised to find John smiling widely. Shouldn't he be upset? "I should be punching you for crossing your boundaries, which is my personal space, mind you, if I don't find it amusing and touching of you for worrying about me that much."

Sherlock rised one eyebrow.

John put his hands in his pockets, brace himself for the upcoming reaction of the only consultant detective in the world. "The CT-scan you find, which shows you a pancreatic carsinoma for a patient named John Watson, is not mine."

Sherlock blinks. "But it's John Watson's. I'm sure you told me few days ago when you are feeling ill that you went to Barts to have yourself examined."

"Yes, I did. And I really had gone through some clinical examination, but the CT is not mine."

Seeing his confused friend, John decided to cut his misery. "It's John Watson's, not John H. Watson's or John Hamish Watson's."

John saw the change on Sherlock's face when comprehension dawned. "Ah."

"Yeah, 'ah'. It's okay, the hospital staffs made the same mistake. Haven't found him again, though, or any time to give it back to him or Barts."

There were so many emotions crossed and mixed on his best friend's face, but the most obvious one John found there was relief.

John pat Shelock's back and gave him symphatic smile. "Don't worry, I haven't thinking about early retirement even a bit."

Sherlock scoffed. "Retirement? In our job for adrenaline junkies like you? Never."

"Well, sometimes I think about having my own practice, doing mundane things, taking care of sneezing kids--"

"Boring. Don't open your own practice."

John grinned, understand the hidden request in those snappy words. Sherlock pat his back and squeezed his shoulders awkwardly before walked again with embarassed blush on his face.

John didn't say a word. Well, sometimes defend his friend's dignity is one of his many listed things in his job description.

* * *

FIN

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_Thank you for coming! _


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